by Deana Birch
“Pfff. I really like you; I do. And this has been so fun—beyond amazing.” I closed my eyes.
“Don’t say but. Please, don’t say but,” he begged.
His lead singer Shane’s judgmental remark about how boring Jake had been since meeting me came to mind.
“And you’re in a band on tour,” I continued. “A successful band. And you should reap all the benefits and great times that go along with it. And if I were to wait for you, I would expect you to do the same. And I’m not going to ask you to do that. You said it yourself this morning: It’s not natural.”
I faked a small smile, hoping to lighten the mood. “You should go back on tour—have a great time without a care in the world, doing whatever you want.”
Jake’s expression turned to annoyance, and Archie pulled his arm back toward home.
“You have a selective memory, because I also told you I only want to be with you.” His tone moved from annoyance to much closer to pissed. “Maybe you want to be with someone else. Is that what this is?”
“No, it’s not. I don’t. Why are you getting mad?”
“If you want to be with me and I want to be with you, what’s the problem? I mean, you are practically married to your job. I thought this would be the perfect arrangement for you.”
“Jake, you’re in a rock band. I’m not naïve.” I couldn’t help but think of all the women I’d seen him with online.
“You don’t trust me.” He let go of my hand. “You don’t think I can be monogamous because I’m in a fucking band! I was joking this morning, Jesus. And you’re so convinced I’m such a man whore you won’t even fucking try? Wow. Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
I didn’t like that he was mad, but it didn’t change the facts. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime moment for you. You should enjoy it to its fullest.”
“There’s more to touring than fucking groupies, Louana.” He calmed a bit, but his chest still swelled. A flash of Dimitri’s hand traveling up my thigh came to mind, and I remembered how different I’d been at eighteen. I’d thought I would spend my entire life with the French soccer player I’d grown up with. And yet I’d moved to Los Angeles to be far away from his hold. If I could change what I wanted, so could Jake. And there was no denying I wanted Jake.
My mouth went dry. “Okay.”
“Okay, what?” he asked.
“Let’s try.” I pushed my lips together.
“Really?” His face lit up.
“But just so you know, if you so much as kiss another woman, I’m done.” I interlaced my fingers back through his.
While I took Archie back to Fern’s, Jake headed to my place. He was on the phone when I got back. He shot me a quick smile, and I shuffled past him to give him some privacy. I changed in the closet, pulled on my nightgown, and went to bed.
Jake joined me ten minutes later and snuggled up to my side, his phone still in his hand.
“This is the schedule for the next three weeks.” He showed me a calendar on the screen. “You already know we’re starting in Denver; then we have a few dates in the Midwest. Next weekend we have three nights in Vegas at the Hard Rock. Do you think you could come?”
There hadn’t been much time to think about how the next few weeks would play out. I guess I assumed waiting for him meant staying here and seeing him whenever he was back in town.
Jake continued his sales pitch. “It’s not even an hour flight. You wouldn’t need to miss work; you could fly out of Burbank Friday night and be back on Sunday.”
He’d practically chanted his proposal, and I knew I would have a hard time saying no. Plus, I’d never been to Las Vegas and wanted to check it off my bucket list. I reached over to the bedside table for my phone.
“Let me check.” I went to my online work schedule. There were no professional reasons not to go. I turned back to Jake and said, “I’ll buy the ticket tomorrow.”
“No. I’ll buy the ticket, and we’re doing it now.”
“I can afford my own ticket.”
“I’m sure you can, but I’m buying it. Besides, my first royalty check came in, and I can more than afford it.”
He wasn’t bragging; it was a statement that sounded like any other.
“Congratulations.” I turned to him and dipped my chin.
“Thanks. I guess the song I wrote is doing okay.” His shoulders bounced in a light shrug.
“You wrote ‘Faster’?”
“Ah. She has heard my music. Don’t sound so surprised.”
“Actually, it makes perfect sense.” It was a great song, and Shane’s performance in the video was haunting. The song was also a very obvious nod to sex. And Jake, well, it’s not like I waited for a promise ring before we fell between the sheets. “I’ll come to Vegas if I can buy the ticket.”
His lips formed the perfect pout. “Why are you so stubborn?”
“To make you crazy.” I smiled.
He searched my face. “Hey, do you have a vibrator?”
“What?”
“I want to watch you masturbate so I can picture it for the next ten days without you.” He said it like he was ordering at a drive-through. Like it was no big deal to do that in front of him. Or anyone.
“You can’t be serious. And anyway, we still have tomorrow.”
“Yeah, but tomorrow I’m going to fuck you into next week.” He hopped up and started rifling through my drawers like a man on a mission. “Where is it?”
“You’re serious?” My elbow pushed into the mattress as I propped myself up.
His lifted eyebrows urged me to reveal the location. He was so happy, his spirit so light, that it made him even more beautiful and somehow impossible to refuse.
“Top left shelf of the closet.” I pointed to the sliding door to my right.
He went to fetch it, found it, and examined it.
“Pastel and tie-dye? Your sex toy is more of a hippie than Arlo Guthrie.”
⸎
The best and most honest way to describe Wednesday would be to call it a fuck fest. I woke up to his hands coercing me to arousal. Previously, sex with him in the morning had always been on the gentler side, but not then. I had three orgasms before breakfast. Getting dressed and driving to work was a complete blur.
Thankfully, Mario was busy writing, because I was useless the entire day and ended up leaving an hour early. As soon as I walked in the door, Jake was on me, driven by his lust and longing. His promise to fuck me into the next week was being upheld, there was no doubt.
We ate dinner out, giving us both pause and purpose, and were back at my place by 8 p.m. Jake’s bags were packed and ready, but we still had an hour before we needed to leave.
“I can’t believe I have to sleep on a bus for three weeks. I’m going to miss this bed,” he said, belly flopping onto it. “I’m taking this pillow.” He grabbed the one he slept on, inhaled, and hugged it into himself.
I joined him on the bed, where we lay on our sides facing each other.
He titled his head and narrowed his dark eyes. Maybe I was crazy to think the few days he’d spent with me made him look less tired.
“You know, you’re going to have to text me. Talking on the phone around those guys is not easy.”
“Okay, but you know I won’t text you back when I’m at work. And do you think you can try to call a bit? I’d much rather hear the sound of your voice.”
“We usually have sound check, then dinner, then play. I’ll find a window after you get home from work.”
Jake pushed me onto my back and hovered over me. “This is going to work.” He kissed me gently and his hand moved up my skirt.
I strong-armed him. “I honestly can’t take anymore.”
“I can kiss it and make it better.” No doubt about that, but my girl was sore.
“I think that’s what got me here in the first place.”
He rolled onto his back and pulled me close. I put my head on his chest and we lay there, still and quiet, moving only to check the
hour or exchange a random kiss until it was time to leave.
Our trip to the Valley was also without much conversation. Jake put the classic rock station on the radio and either sang along or tapped his hands and fingers to replicate the beat, or both. It made for an entertaining but ominous ride.
When I pulled into the parking lot, Sam was saying goodbye to his girlfriend, and the door of the bus was open, waiting for the band to walk through.
This time I got out of the car, and Jake went to the trunk to fetch his bags and the pillow he’d confiscated. As we approached the bus, a middle-aged man stepped off it.
“Jake. Right on time. Shane and John are already on board. You all set?” Jake nodded a yes. The man turned to me. “You must be Louana.” He stuck out his hand to shake. “I’m Phil.”
“Nice to meet you.” We smiled at each other for a brief moment before he moved over to Sam, whose girlfriend was now in tears.
Her emotion hit home for me too. I didn’t want Jake to leave either. Phil and Sam passed by and boarded to our right. Jake dropped his bags and pillow. I reached up, brushing the soft stubble on the way, and dangled my arms around his neck. I had to say it; it had been on my mind since the night before. “Please don’t fuck anyone.”
“I won’t. I told you, I don’t want to. Only Mr. Guthrie for you, okay?”
“That’s not going to happen anytime soon. I can barely walk.” I pursed my lips.
“Wait ’til I get you in Vegas.” His grin touched his ears. Then he bent down, and our lips met in a gentle, tender kiss. “Nine days.”
“See you in Vegas,” I whispered back.
He left me, climbed on the bus, and hollered, “Amigos!”
I went over to console the blubbering mess to my left.
“You’ll see him soon,” I said. I rubbed her back and leaned in for a side hug.
“I know,” she whimpered. “God, this is so embarrassing.” She wiped away her tears and the door to the bus closed, everyone now on board.
The blond gypsy sniffed and said, “I’m Gina.”
“Louana.”
“Yeah, I know. Sam told me about you. You’re going to Vegas, right?”
“Yeah.” Sheesh, news traveled fast with The Spades.
The bus pulled away and we walked back to our cars.
“Hey, give me your number. Maybe we can commiserate on missing our touring boyfriends,” Gina said, pulling her phone from the charger in her convertible.
Boyfriend? Jake wasn’t my boyfriend. He wasn’t anyone’s boyfriend. I hadn’t even known him for three weeks. We had agreed to see each other and make it monogamous. I put the idea out of my head.
Gina and her curls bounced over. “One n or two?” she asked.
“One.” She handed the phone to me and I punched in my number. As I handed it back to her, it dinged.
She read her message. “Aww, he’s so sweet. Nice meeting you! See you next Thursday.”
“Oh. I’m coming on Friday.”
“Right.” Gina blinked. “Sam said you had a fancy job. Anyway, see you next week. I’m sending you my number now.”
I climbed back into my car and there were two new messages on my phone. The first was from Gina and I saved her to my contacts. The second was from the gorgeous drummer I had just kissed goodbye.
Jake: Thanks for the pillow. x
Me: Thanks for satisfying me well into next week.
I smiled, turned on the ignition, and changed the radio station. About halfway home, a haunting guitar echoed through my small speakers, and Shane’s voice sang:
* * *
Sitting on the edge I found you
You know where you are
Sitting on both sides you found me
I know who I am
In between the lust and greed
I cannot control my speed
Bodies start to twist and stir
As you beg me for faster
8
Bitch-Slapped
* * *
LOUANA
Falling back into my pre-Jake routine of working, running, cooking, and taking care of Fern and Archie brought me comfort. Plus, Mario had me busy booking musicians and logging the cues for The Drifting.
Thursday, Jake and I exchanged text messages. I was looking forward to the weekend, when we would both be more available to talk.
Jake called me Friday night when I was picking out wine.
“Hiii,” I said.
“Hey, gorgeous.” His gruff voice was music to my ears.
“How was Denver?”
“High.”
I laughed and put back the Pinot Noir that was out of my price range. “Where are you now?” I thought about it. “Kansas City?”
“Yup. The Midwest Mission.”
“How’s it going?”
“No drama in forty-eight hours. Shane and John are on their best behavior.”
“Really?” I scanned the other bottles without registering any of them.
“Well, yeah, if getting wasted and passing out on the bus without insulting each other qualifies as best behavior.”
Yikes. Hard living, hard playing. “Only in rock bands.”
“But we did have a great show. It feels good to get back out and play. How’s my girl?”
Being his girl sounded nice. I grinned to the cabernets.
“I’m good. I’m at the liquor store.”
“Fern out of booze?” he joked.
“Always. But I’m trying to find a nice bottle to take to Vincent Renier’s on Sunday. Casey and I are going there for brunch.”
“Impressive. How did you get the invite?”
“I don’t know. I guess he liked me. Mario just started working on his latest film, The Drifting.”
“What do you mean, he liked you?” His tone deepened. Was he jealous?
“Simmer down. He’s a client. Anyway, I’m wine shopping. What are you doing?”
“Finished dinner and am heading to the gig. Listen, I realized I don’t have any pictures of you. Will you send me some?”
“Ugh. I hate selfies.” I shuddered.
“Come on. For me?”
“Fine. But don’t think for one second that they’ll be revealing in any nature.” No nude snapshots of me. No way. I read Us Weekly; I knew what happened to naked pictures.
“You’re no fun,” he complained.
“I’ve already agreed to text you, which I don’t do. Now you’re asking me to break my selfie rule, too. Three weeks of knowing you and all my morals are out the window.”
“Well, if you get someone else to take it, it’s technically not a selfie.”
“Nice loophole.” I examined a bottle of merlot from the shelf in front of me, recognizing the name from a town I’d visited with my grandmother.
“I’m so glad I stole your pillow. But I think I may be developing an unhealthy attachment to it.”
“I wish I’d taken something of yours. The bed seems so big and empty without you.”
“My bed is tiny. You still have my toothbrush.”
“No, I don’t. I cleaned the toilet with it yesterday.”
“Liar.” He laughed a little. “Shit. I gotta run; everyone’s waiting.”
“Jake? Thank you for calling.”
“You’re welcome. Don’t forget to send me the pics.”
When I got home, I did try my hand at a selfie. I even snapped a couple with the stupid duck face people do and came to a quick conclusion that I looked ridiculous. In the end, I deleted all of them from my phone. There would be no evidence left behind. My idea of what to send Jake came when I walked Archie.
Back at Fern’s, and after providing her a hilarious tutorial of how to take a picture with my phone, I had the shot I wanted. I sent Jake the picture of me squatting next to Archie and kissing him on the nose. He sent a reply within seconds.
Jake: Thank you. I love it. But now I’m jealous.
Me: Don’t be. I’m consoling him. He misses you too.
Jak
e: Does that mean you miss me?
Me: Not at all, I was referring to Fern who says she’s bored during the day now.
Jake: I don't believe you, but gotta go. Am warming up backstage. Feel free to send more pics. Nude shots are always welcome. x
Me: Not gonna happen. Have a good show. x
On Saturday, I was determined to keep busy. I cleaned my apartment from top to bottom. I paid my bills online. I reorganized my closet. None of those things needed to be done, and I was finished and bored well before noon. I decided to go to yoga. Watching all the hungover people in the room would provide ninety minutes of entertainment.
As I walked out, a familiar tap landed on my shoulder. I tried not to wince as I spun around.
“Hey, Brandon.”
“Hey, Louana! How are you?” He wiped his dark hair with a towel and grinned.
Brandon Cole was becoming my own personal Ned Ryerson from Groundhog Day. I hoped I wouldn’t have to punch him in the yoga studio. It wouldn’t be very namaste-y. He didn’t wait for me to answer. Actors.
“Amazing class, right? You have a nice practice.”
“Thanks.”
Did that mean he’d watched me during class? Ew.
“Well, gotta run.” Maybe my smile would hide my lie. “Maybe see you next week.”
“Probably not, unfortunately. Well, not really, what I mean is…” His crystal-blue eyes searched the ceiling.
I couldn’t for the life of me understand why I still stood in front of him, listening to him jabber.
“I’m going to Vegas next weekend!” He put his hands up and did what he must have assumed was a dance. Maybe he was gay. I’d have to ask Casey. Brandon kept going. “My agent got me tickets to see The Spades at the Hard Rock.”
My mouth dropped, but I smacked it shut. Thank goodness he was too self-absorbed to notice.
“I’m taking one of my friends from home. He’s a huge fan.”
Unable to stomach any more, I said, “I’m sorry. I really have to go, Brandon.”
“Have a great weekend!” he sing-sang to my back.
Back in the safety of my car, a nugget of guilt in my throat made it hard to swallow. Brandon was a nice guy. The next time I ran into him, I promised myself I wouldn’t run off or ignore him. I was sure I would see him in Las Vegas, since he seemed to have a GPS chip in me. For someone who was hunting for friends, maybe I shouldn’t be so picky. But then again, he was a shoulder tapper.
